


Electric Feel

by ArgentLives



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Non-Graphic Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:02:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2843921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentLives/pseuds/ArgentLives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh! Oh. You mean…you want me to…um,” he trails off, eyes wide and excited. Excited at the prospect of using his powers to go down on her. Iris silently thanks God for giving her the gift that is Barry Allen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Electric Feel

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so the other day I made this post (http://bisexualiriswest.tumblr.com/post/105888113353/okay-but-picture-this-barry-giving-iris-nice) about Barry giving Iris vibrating massages and I can't stop thinking about this whole vibrating thing being put to good use. I started writing this and realized halfway through that I didn't have it in me to write actual smut, so instead here's something vaguely like it...I apologize in advance

Iris West has had a long day. A very long, long day. She’s been up since six in the morning and now it’s already past dinnertime and she’s just getting home, and she’s really fucking exhausted.

And she loves her job, she really does. She loves what she does and she loves that her boss is already giving her such big assignments and reports to work on even though she’s still pretty new, and she’s beyond ecstatic that they already hold her in such high esteem.

But _God_ , some days it’s just so _tiring_.

Barry can tell something is off the second she steps through the door—it’s the sound of her footsteps, much heavier than usual, the way she drops her bag on the ground with a little more force than entirely necessary, and the way her shoulders are hunched over as though she’s carrying some unseen weight when she walks into the kitchen where Barry is standing, eating ice-cream directly out of the carton.

He freezes as though he’s been caught doing something he’s not supposed to, gives Iris an uneasy smile and slowly puts it away, rubs the back of his neck like he always does when he’s nervous, and Iris thinks she knows why.

He’s still in his suit (outfit? costume? She’s not really sure what she’s supposed to call it), with the hood down, looking casual, even though he’s probably just gotten back from doing some sort of super-heroing, maybe stopping a robbery or pulling someone out of a burning building or catching some dangerous new meta-human or who knows what—it could be any number of things, she knows.

Which is…really fucking cool, to be honest, but she’s not about to admit that.

Because she only just found out a few weeks ago that he’s the fucking Flash.

They’ve been _together_ together for a decent amount of time now, and even if they weren’t it wouldn’t matter because he’s _supposed_ to be her best friend, the one constant in her life, and they don’t lie to each other, they don’t keep secrets like this. It’s like a fundamental law of their relationship, always has been, from when they were little kids—save for, she supposes, the small fact that Barry had been deeply in love of her all his life and waited so long to tell her. But at least he finally _did_ tell her, and look where it got them.

This, however, she had to find out on her own, and she thinks that’s what makes it so much worse, because sometimes she’ll catch herself wondering if he _ever_ would have told her. If he would have gone their whole lives not telling her if she hadn’t found out herself.

She hadn’t wanted to come home, to the small little apartment her and Barry now shared, when she had first figured it out, hadn’t been able to stand being in the same room as him. She had stayed at her dad’s—until she found at that her dad had known all along, and then she hadn’t wanted to be near him either, and had crashed at Caitlin’s for a while. Until she found out that Caitlin knew too, and so did Cisco, and Wells, and that _Jesus Christ_ it seemed like everyone important in Barry’s life knew _except her_.

She gets it, she does, when he swears up and down that it was all to protect her, because she knows Barry and she knows that he would do anything, at any cost, to protect the people he loves. Except that it still doesn’t excuse it, not at all, not by a long shot.

But eventually, she had come to the conclusion that she had known she would all along, that she wouldn’t even be able to last a week, let alone her entire life, without Barry in it. That she still loved him, deceit and all, and that she could still be angry, had a _right_ to be angry, but be open to forgiving him, too, even though it would take a while.

They’ve been on tender hooks about the subject since then—for the most part they’ve settled back into their happy, natural, _Barry-and-Iris_ rhythm, but there are days Barry can tell she hasn’t fully forgiven him yet, realizes that it’s going to take a long time before she truly can (which is entirely his fault, he knows) and that he’s got a long road of making it up to her ahead of him.

And right now, Barry can tell that she’s in a bad mood, and knows that in this state she’s viable to latch onto the anger that she’s still harboring over the fact that he kept this a secret from her for so long.

So he approaches her slowly, cautiously—she looks like she could use a hug, but he’s not exactly sure she’d be welcoming of one right now.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and he sounds so worried and concerned that Iris decides to take pity on him, to keep her lingering anger towards him separate from her bad mood right now, because he’s not to blame for her exhaustion at the moment.

Besides, she really is trying to move past it—he really has been doing everything he possibly can to make things right again, as he should, but she doesn’t want to live the rest of her life holding onto resentment at the person who she knows she’s still always going to love more than anything.

Iris sighs and dazedly rubs her temples as she answers him.

“Just a long day at work. And it’s also been that kind of day where everything seems to working against me, you know? I haven’t even had any coffee—you know how much I need my coffee. I spilled it all over me this morning on my way out. Ruined my favorite jacket. And then…” she trails off, when she notices the way Barry’s face lights up and a slow smile spreads across his face.

 _The big jerk_ , she thinks to herself, narrowing her eyes at him. She’s about to ask what exactly has him so cheerful all of a sudden, call him out on his nerve, on how he can be _possibly_ be smiling when she’s _trying_ to complain.

Just as she’s about to open her mouth and demand an explanation, he sweeps her off her feet and carries her to the couch, spinning her around so that her back is to him.

“I just had an idea—I think I know something that might help you relax.”

She can’t see his face but she can practically hear him grinning, can sense the excitement in his voice as he prepares to do...whatever it is he’s planning to do. She lets her eyes fall shut with a sigh and decides that it’s probably better not to ask—she doesn’t have the energy.

And then all of a sudden Barry’s hands are on her shoulder, and he’s massaging them just as they’ve always done for each other, from when they’d stressed over things like report cards and in-class presentations, an action they’ve always just instinctively defaulted to whenever one of them is visibly stressed— except for the fact that it’s not like that at all.

Not. At. _All._

Because suddenly his hands are _vibrating_ , and his fingers are simultaneously rubbing soothing circles into her skin. It’s as though some one has suddenly pumped electricity into her veins, as though her tired body’s been woken up by a live-wire, and it feels _so good_.

She’s not expecting it—Barry’s been careful about using his abilities around her, now that she already knows and he can openly do so, careful not to do anything that might trigger her anger or remind her of why she hadn’t spoken to him for days after she found out, of the betrayal of trust that she’s still struggling (but finally starting) to come to terms with.

So it takes her off guard, and she can’t help the small gasp that escapes her, or the shivers that it sends shooting down her spine.

He flits his hands all along the tops of her shoulders, and then he’s got them slowly trailing down her back, kneading in between her shoulder blades, going back and forth between lessening and increasing the pressure that he’s using as he moves his hands lower and lower. One moment, it’s a light buzz against her skin, a soft hum and a barely-there touch, and then it’s a firmness and heavy pressure that seems reverberate in her very bones, ease every ache in her body.

It’s like her own personal massage chair, except that it’s so, so much better. Also, she doesn’t think she’s ever felt this worked up over a massage chair, as though every nerve ending in her body is suddenly on fire.

She feels every ounce of tension draining from her shoulders, her back, _everywhere,_ but it’s instantly replaced with a different kind of ache, and by the time Barry’s hands are at the small of her back the burning sensation in the pit of her stomach peaks to the point where she can’t take it anymore, feels like she’s about to explode, can’t let this go on any longer.

“Barry. Barry, I need you to stop.”

She feels his hands still and turns around to face him, wonder if her can read the need in her eyes, if he notices how flustered and flushed she is.

He looks upset, frowns at her, like concerned he’s disappointed her somehow.

“Sorry. Did that really not help at all?” he asks, deflated, like he’d been so determined to make her feel better and took her stopping him as an indication that it hadn’t been working. Iris wonders how it’s even possible that he can’t see what he’s doing to her right now.

“No, no—that’s not it. I just…Barry, can you...can you by any chance do that with your tongue, too? I mean, the whole vibrating thing…”

She chokes the words out with enormous effort, doing her best to say it slowly, to clearly annunciate each syllable, to keep the strain out of her voice. She doesn’t think she’s very successful—but whether she is or not, Barry doesn’t seem to notice, because he just frowns and purses his lips together, as though he’s seriously considering the matter.

“Well, I know I’ve done it with my face but…I’ve never really thought about that— hold on…”

And then he’s sticking out his tongue at her, and for a second she’s absurdly reminded of when they were little kids, and they would make faces at each other behind Joe’s back, crossing their eyes and sticking out their tongues and then muffling their laughter (actually, who is she kidding—they still do that).

But then, wouldn’t you know it, his tongue is vibrating, honest-to-god vibrating, and the image shatters instantly and completely, replaced by a _very_ different picture, one of Barry doing something that’s _far_ less child-like and innocent, one that causes her breath to get caught in her throat and her palms to go all sweaty.

Barry, bless his heart, remains as oblivious as ever, and Iris focuses all her attention on the little crease forming between his eyebrows when he finally stops doing that…that _thing_ with his tongue— that terrible, wonderful thing.

“What’d you want to know that for…?” he asks in confusion, and Iris can’t decide whether she wants to kiss him right then for being so goddamn obliviously adorable or groan in exasperation because honestly Barry. _Honestly._

She opts more for the latter, raising her eyebrows and leveling him with a pain-staking look, refusing to break her gaze until he finally arrives at the proper conclusion.

She can see the moment the wheels begin turning in that big brain of his, watches as the comprehension slowly dawns on his face and he blushes beet-red. Normally, this is the kind of thing she’d tease him for, except that her skin is hot and flushed and she knows that she probably doesn’t look much better.

“Oh! Oh. You mean…you want me to…um,” he trails off, eyes wide and excited. Excited at the prospect of using his powers to go down on her. Iris silently thanks God for giving her the gift that is Barry Allen.

“Yes, Barry. I think I would really, _really_ like that,” she replies, and she’s already out of breath again, just thinking of all the possibilities. Then she pauses and adds “that is, if that’s okay with y—”

Before she can even get the sentence out, Barry’s whooshing her off the couch and laying her down on the bed, and Iris dully notes that at some point in the past two seconds he’s changed out of his Flash suit and into just his t-shirt and boxers.

She raises an eyebrow in question, and watches as he blushes again in response.

“Uh, Cisco has a camera built into that thing. Plus it monitors my vitals and all, so you know,” he does this vague gesture with his hand, and Iris feels a surge of affection at how beautifully, familiarly awkward he can somehow still be, how no matter what the circumstances, she can always count on him being her adorably dorky Barry.

“Understandable,” she nods, as she shimmies out of her own skirt and Barry pulls her shirt off over her head. She’s practically aching with anticipation, her body already responding to her arousal.

And then his hands are everywhere, fingers vibrating against her skin, massaging—her chest, her her arms, her legs, the insides of her thighs…and _oh God_ , she can feel the shock flooding through her veins, and it’s as though she can feel him in every bit of her body, and she melts into his touch.

He starts with his fingers first, and she’s dimly aware that she’s moaning his name, over and over and over and then he’s using his tongue, and her fingers are tangled in the top of his head, and by the time she comes she’s surprised he’s got any hair left, she’s gripping it so tight.

When he’s finished, he leaves a trail kisses of kisses up her stomach, over her breasts, up her neck, and for the fastest man alive he’s doing it maddeningly slow—but in a good way. The best way possible, she thinks, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest and goose-bumps breaking over every inch of her exposed skin. Her mind is still on cloud nine, her thoughts buzzing, still a jumbled mess of _Barry, Barry, Barry. Her Barry._

His mouth finally comes to rest on hers, unbelievably wet, and she registers that she’s tasting herself on his lips, as he’s saying her name, whispering it before he kisses her.

She wonders if he’s vibrating his voice, too, like he used to do when he would visit her as the Flash, before she knew it was him, in their many late-night rooftop rendezvouses, or if it’s just that particular way she knows he has of saying her name that makes the words seem to echo through her body, resound within the very marrow of her bones.

When they finally pull apart, the first thing he asks is, “Are you feeling any better?” and he sounds so genuinely concerned, so honestly worried that she has to stop herself from dissolving into laughter. _Classic Barry._

She rolls over so that she’s on top of him, straddling him, her eyes bright and wild and mischievous.

“Are you seriously asking me that question,” she huffs, still very much out of breath.

His answering grin is sheepish but pleased, and he can’t help but seem a little smug.

“Good. Glad I could help,” he winks at her, and she lets out the laugh she’s been holding in, slapping his shoulder playfully.

“You are _such_ a dork,” she says affectionately. It’s times like these where she can’t help but forget her anger at him altogether. “And I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me like that,” she adds.

Then she remembers her motives for sitting on top of him in the first place. “So, mind if I return the favor?” she grins at him, with her hand on his chest and the impossibly fast thrumming of his heartbeat against her fingertips.

“Are you seriously asking me that question,” he breathes, mimicking her words, and Iris is pleased to note how flustered she’s making him, at the effect she still has on him.

Her hands are on his waistband, just about to pull down, when his stomach growls— _very_ loudly.

She stops what she’s doing and looks up at him in surprise, laughs as she takes in the blush that’s spreading across his skin.

 _“_ Dude. _Seriously_?”

He holds his hands up defensively, and even though he’s embarrassed he’s laughing too.

“Hey, I can’t help it! I’m always super hungry after I use my speed—I probably just burned like a full day’s worth of calories. Plus,” he adds, as though the thought has just occurred to him, “I still haven’t had dinner.”

Iris hums thoughtfully, realizing that she actually hasn’t yet, either, and then she springs out of bed to grab her phone.

“Alright then, pizza it is!”

She places their order, one that at this point she knows by heart, and then lays back down with Barry, resting her head against his chest.

“You know, we’ve still got some time to kill before the food gets here,” she points out, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively at him.

“Mmm. That is correct,” he nods, pretending to look serious.

They make very good use of the half-hour it takes for the pizza to arrive.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone!


End file.
